Honor Among Thieves Page 2

  A few of the guests were tearing up at the sight of this lovely couple about to pledge their love to one another. Meanwhile, I didn’t feel a thing.

  Generally, I’ve noticed that about myself and a few other Children of Divorce I know. Marriage is a much more daunting thought to us than to Children of Happy Marriages. Divorces are messy, and obviously no one plans to go through one, but why even risk it in this day and age?

  The guests took their seats, Rhys slipped his hand into mine and the vows began.

  * * *

  “You must be Rhys’s girlfriend.” The old lady with a gentle Scottish accent took my hand and patted it.

  She was approximately the thousandth person I’d met at this point. Rhys nodded.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said.

  I have no fucking idea who you are.

  “Oh, an American!” she exclaimed. “Rhys, you never told me you were seeing an American girl!”

  This was the nineteenth person who’d commented on my Americanness. At least she didn’t say it with disgust, like a few of the others had.

  As the old lady wandered away to look at the dessert table, I glanced at Rhys. “She thought I was Danika, right?”

  Rhys smiled weakly. “Sorry.” He looked up and smiled at the next older lady coming over to us. “This is my Great-Aunt Josephine.”

  Josephine wore about a hundred necklaces, one for each year of her life, I assume. “Hello, dear,” she said in the thickest Scottish accent I’ve ever heard.

  “Aunt Josephine, this is my friend Molly.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Josephine,” I said dutifully.

  She smiled sweetly and then asked me … something. I really have no idea. Rhys glanced at me, watching as I smiled and nodded awkwardly.

  “She lives in New York, but she’s originally from Vermont,” he said.

  I nodded in agreement. God, this is awkward.

  She patted my hand and drifted away to make conversation with someone who spoke the same language. I puffed out my cheeks as I sighed, Rhys trying to contain his snickers beside me.

  Rhys spotted the bar. “There’s no line. I’m going to grab us some wine.”

  I nodded. “I’m going to go answer some texts. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  I slipped out into the garden behind the castle to take a few deep breaths and gather my thoughts before going back in to deal with yet more introductions to various friends. And family. And family friends. And friends of family friends. And family of family friends.

  I leaned against the brick of the castle and took a few deep breaths, closing my eyes. The smell of smoke made my eyes flash open again.

  The photographer, a cigarette hanging from his lips, gave me an awkward little wave.

  “Taking a breather?” I smiled.

  “Nobody likes pictures of themselves stuffing their face with food anyway,” he said.

  I laughed. “No, I suppose that’s true.” I looked at the big camera hanging from his chest. “About how many photos do you take during the course of a wedding?”

  “About two thousand, give or take,” he said with a shrug.

  “Did you see the guy I was sitting with? Tall, dark hair, stupidly handsome?”

  “Yeah.”

  I opened my little clutch purse and checked how much cash I had on me. “I’ll give you three hundred pounds to delete any photos of us right now.” I took out the cash. “I know you can’t like, Photoshop us out of group shots or whatever, but if you could get rid of photos of just the two of us, I’d really appreciate it.”

  The photographer eyed me, then the cash and took a long drag from his smoke. “Make it five hundred and I will avoid taking photos of you for the rest of the day.”

  I frowned, retrieving the money. “Fine, whatever.”

  He took the cash and stuffed it in his pocket. “Thanks, love.” He stamped his cigarette out on the stone path, nodded to me and headed back inside.

  “Don’t mention it. But really. Don’t.”

  I checked my phone for missed texts.

  Ruby: Are you in NY? I was just at your place but you weren’t home.

  Molly: Sorry, in Scotland.

  Ruby: NP. We’ll talk when you get back.

  A few minutes later, I headed back inside. The harp music had been replaced by bouncy pop music, which was a pleasant update. The ring bearer, the flower girl and a couple other kids were up dancing to “Groove Is in the Heart,” but it was still pretty tame. That open bar hadn’t taken full effect yet.

  Rhys lingered at the bar, a glass of white wine in each hand. He was chatting away with the pretty bridesmaid from earlier. I pushed away my feelings of intimidation and joined them at the bar.

  You’re an American woman, damn it. American women are confident.

  “Hi, I’m Molly.” The words came out of my mouth too quickly, so it was more like ‘Himolly.’

  “I’m Ainsley.” She looked back at Rhys. “I thought your girlfriend’s name was Danika.”

  Rhys winced. “It was. We broke up.” He handed me my wine, and I took a big gulp right away. “Molly and I are—” He glanced at me, considering his words carefully “—very new.”

  I took another gulp.

  Ainsley adjusted the flower clip in her braided curls as she continued chatting with Rhys and batting her impossibly long eyelashes at him. “I’m so glad you could come. Your mum said you might not be able to make it, because you’re always so busy with work. I didn’t realize you computer guys had such busy schedules.”

  I snickered loudly. I blame the wine.

  “I travel a lot,” Rhys said.

  Ainsley’s cocktail arrived at the bar beside her, and she gingerly took a little sip. “Remember when we were planning our backpacking trip across Europe? It’s funny how things turn out.” She didn’t even have the decency to look at me when she made that pointed remark.

  Bitch, I will fight you.

  She glanced over to the bride as someone called her name. “Bugger, the bride needs me. We’ll talk later.” She left her cocktail on the bar and scurried off to aid the new Mrs. Simon Whatever-His-Name-Is.

  I took another drink. “Friend of yours?” I tried my best to not sound jealous, but I’m not sure I was effective.

  “High school girlfriend.” He sipped his wine and avoided eye contact with me.

  Wine, wine, wine. Glug, glug, glug. I placed my empty glass on the bar counter.

  “That is a really great wine.”

  Rhys smirked. “Apparently.” He lifted his gaze toward the banquet hall entrance, and his eyes grew wide. “Behave,” he whispered.

  I turned around to see who or what Rhys was looking at. A tall man and a shorter, plumper lady, both in their fifties. I knew they were Rhys’s parents in an instant. The man basically looked like an older version of Rhys, except slightly thinner, and the woman had the same smartass grin Rhys usually has.

  My mouth went dry immediately, and I struggled to contort my face into a genuine-ish smile.

  I can’t meet his parents yet. It’s too soon for that!

  “Darling, so good to see you!” Mama Graham said, squeezing Rhys quickly.

  His father did the awkward handshake instead. “How are you, my boy?”

  Rhys smiled wide. “Wasn’t sure you’d make it. How was the conference?”

  Papa Graham, handsome in round glasses and a tweed jacket, beamed. “It was lovely. Mostly just an excuse to drink whiskey with a bunch of Shakespeare fans.”

  Shakespeare?

  Mama Graham rolled her eyes. “As if there’s anything new to talk about related to Shakespeare.”

  “The shared authorship of Shakespeare and Christopher Marlowe on Henry VI is all anyone is talking about,” Papa Graham said. “It’s quite the scandal.”

  She waved her hand at her husband and smiled sweetly at me, straightening her string of pearls. “Since our very rude son won’t introduce us, I’ll do it for him.”

  Rhys winced, embarrass
ed. “Mum—”

  “I’m Sadie, and this is Lyle.” She shook my hand and adjusted her string of pearls. “Are you Rhys’s special someone?”

  “This is Molly,” Rhys cut in. “These are my parents.”

  “Nice to meet you.” I smiled, feeling the effects of the wine creeping up on me.

  “An American!” Lyle said. “I didn’t know Rhys was dating an American. It’s very nice to meet you, my dear.”

  I glanced at Rhys and then back to Lyle. “Did you say you’re into Shakespeare?”

  “Dad has been an English literature professor at Oxford for almost twenty years,” Rhys said.

  “Now he’s taking a sabbatical to write a book about the Bard,” Sadie chimed in. “It’s going to be boring as dirt.”

  Lyle beamed at this. Sadie winked at him. It was adorable.

  I pointed to Rhys. “Is that why your middle name is Shakespeare?”

  The wine made me do that too.

  Sadie’s eyebrows went up, just like Rhys’s does when he’s surprised. “He actually told you his middle name? That’s a new one.”

  Lyle and Sadie exchanged meaningful glances.

  “Mum is a mathematics professor,” Rhys said, quickly steering the conversation away from his unique middle name. “Also at Oxford.”

  Both of his parents are geniuses. And their kid is dating a college dropout.

  “Wow,” I said. “Your parents are really, really impressive.”

  Hi, I’m Molly Miranda. My dad is a convicted felon on the run because he murdered a mobster. So nice to meet you.

  The professors joined us at our table, and we chatted a while. Well, they chatted with Rhys. I mostly just drank wine and smiled along. Eventually Lyle yawned, and they said their goodbyes. The lights dimmed, the toddlers were taken home and the mood of the banquet got very romantic. Candles were lit around the room. The music went from dance pop to a slow piano ballad.

  Rhys took my hand and raised me to my feet, leading me to an empty space on the floor. I made eye contact with the photographer on the way there, and he promptly swung his camera in another direction. Good boy.

  I also made eye contact with Ainsley, who was glaring at us from across the room. I considered giving her the finger behind Rhys’s back but figured that was likely a good way to make a poor impression on his family.

  I hate slow dancing. It’s stupid, and I hate it.

  Rhys slid his hand to the small of my back and brought me closer to him. He rested his cheek on the top of my head as we swayed.

  “Your parents are cute,” I whispered.

  “They like you.”

  “I like you.”

  Rhys’s chest twitched as he laughed quietly. “I should get you drunk more often.”

  “I’m still mad at you.”

  “You had a good time, admit it.”

  Lifting my head, I looked at him directly. “You lied to me.”

  He winced. “I know. I’m sorry. I just wanted you here with me. I wasn’t ready to leave you in New York. Would you have come with me if I’d said it was my cousin’s wedding?”

  Shit, no.

  “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  I didn’t want to ruin a nice moment by being honest.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The next day, we took a quick flight from Edinburgh to London and then a cab from Heathrow to Rhys’s house in West Kensington. In the cab, my phone buzzed.

  Audrey: Are you available for an assignment in America?

  I slipped the phone back into my purse without responding. Rhys noticed.

  “Ruby missing you already?”

  I smiled. “Yeah.”

  Yes, I lied. Well, I guess I didn’t so much lie as just, ya know, not tell Rhys the truth about the text.

  Rhys isn’t a big fan of Audrey. I’m not either, but I’ve made a lot of money because of Audrey and her various connections, so I play nice with her. It’s a means to an end.

  The cab pulled up in front of Rhys’s house, and we hauled out our luggage. Rhys knocked on the door.

  Danika answered. My stomach turned.

  Did they actually even break up? Oh god. I’ve been sleeping with a guy who has a girlfriend.

  “Welcome back,” she said while glancing at her phone. “I’m so sorry, I’ve got to go. Can I grab my things next week? I’m away for a few days.” A cream-colored dress was moulded to her killer bod, and her tall heels clicked on the hardwood floors.

  “Sure,” Rhys said, moving the suitcases to the side in the hallway. “Thanks for housesitting.”

  Danika slid on an oversized pair of sunglasses. “No problem.” She smiled wide at me. “Nice seeing you again, Molly.” She rushed out the door as a black cab pulled up in front of the narrow row house.

  Freddie, Rhys’s border terrier, scurried out from the living room, where he’d been snoozing in his basket. Rhys scooped him up. Freddie’s tail thumping against Rhys’s arm as he wriggled with joy.

  “Were you a good boy?” Rhys winced as Freddie licked his cheek.

  I hated to be the one to break up such a tender reunion, but I needed to know. “Danika is still living here?”

  “No, of course not. She and I were never living together to begin with. I just didn’t want to ask anyone else to look after Freddie on such short notice.” He put Freddie back down on the floor. “She was fine with the breakup. We’re on friendly terms.”

  Yeah, I bet you are.

  My face must have said it all. A wave of guilt washed over Rhys’s face.

  “Oh. I should have mentioned she was here.” He winced, his whole face clenching. “Sorry about that. I didn’t even think about it.”

  I heard my phone buzz again in my purse. Audrey was never the most patient person.

  Maybe I should have just gone back to New York instead of coming to London with Rhys.

  “It’s fine. Just…” I let out a sigh. “Maybe give me a head’s up next time your escort ex is housesitting?”

  He gave me a quick peck on the cheek and lugged our stuff upstairs. I sat on the sofa with Freddie, scratching behind his ears. I could hear Rhys typing away on his computer upstairs, so I slid my phone from my purse to see the second text message from Audrey.

  Audrey: May I call you about this?

  Molly: I’m actually in London right now, if you want to meet to discuss.

  Audrey: Are you with Rhys?

  Molly: Yes. Do you need him on this assignment too?

  Audrey: Most likely.

  Molly: Going by the conversation the two of you had the last time you were in the same room, that might be difficult.

  It had not gone well.

  Audrey: Perhaps you can persuade him otherwise. If not, I’ll have to find someone else to assist you with this particular assignment.

  I grimaced. Working with someone else beside Rhys? We’d been partners on all my recent assignments, and we complemented one another well in terms of skills and, uh, other stuff. The thought of doing a job with someone else felt weird and wrong.

  It felt a bit like cheating on him.

  Molly: We’ll meet you at your office at 3.

  Rhys ordered us some pizza for a late lunch, and we sat on his sofa while Freddie lay in his basket, giving us major puppy dog eyes.

  “Are you up for an assignment?” I pulled at some stringy cheese with my teeth. “Because I have something coming up soon.”

  Rhys wiped some sauce from his lips with a napkin. “Sure.”

  “Cool. We’re meeting the client at three.”

  Rhys’s eyes narrowed. “Where?”

  I avoided eye contact. “Here in London.”

  “Where specifically?”

  I hesitated. “Belgravia.”

  He sighed. “I’m not working for Audrey again. She puts us in dangerous positions and doesn’t pay us what we’re worth. I don’t trust her.”

  “Well, I don’t like being lied to about going on an assignment when we’re actually going to a wedding,” I snapped. M
y eyes widened as soon as the words escaped my lips. I’d even surprised myself. I forced my face to relax again, trying to play it cool.

  Rhys squared his shoulders and was silent for a moment. “You’re right. That was a shitty thing for me to do.” He put his napkin down and took my hand. “I’m sorry.”

  “Okay. But now we’re even.” I smiled at him. “You’ve got pizza sauce on your chin.”

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, we took the lift up to Audrey’s office. Rhys and I sat down in the two posh chairs in front of the desk.

  Audrey, usually the most put-together person I’ve ever met, had papers scattered across her desk. Her usually sleek blonde ponytail was a bit disheveled, and several pieces of lint clung to her black blouse. Her eyeliner was smudged at the corner, and her thumb was stained with blue pen ink.

  I pretended not to notice any of it. Rhys gave me a look.

  I folded my hands in my lap. “What can we do for you?”

  Audrey typed something on her computer and swung the monitor around. “Are either of you familiar with this man?”

  I burst out laughing. Rhys’s eyebrow went up.

  Audrey rolled her eyes. “Would you mind keeping it down?”

  I bit my lower lip. “Sorry. That’s Xander Rose,” I said quietly. I leaned forward in my chair. “Are we really stealing something from Xander Rose?”

  Rhys shrugged. “Is he some kind of musician?”

  The man on the screen had choppy black hair with a dramatic white highlight in the front. His eyes were heavily made up with black eyeliner. Chunky metal rings decorated every finger, and his leather jacket and ripped jeans would make anyone believe he was a rock star circa 1987.

  “I take it you don’t watch reality TV,” I said. “He’s a hair stylist. He has his own TV show where he goes to a celebrity’s house, does their hair and attends big Hollywood parties and stuff. I think it’s mostly just a twenty-minute advertisement for Xander Rose-brand hair products.”